


Circle

by DragonflyxParodies



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: Angst, Dantalion is Sad, One Shot, Other, Why is this ship not a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonflyxParodies/pseuds/DragonflyxParodies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think...if you sink any deeper, Dantalion, you'll forget this." Because William was always right, and he is drowning in death. One-shot, complete, #87 in a 100 theme challenge.<br/>(ALSO POSTED ON FFN. Note, I am skipping around in the challenge bc who does things in order? Lol)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circle

He’d forgotten what it was like, to drown.

Blood so thick on his hands and hot in his throat he felt as if he would never be able to breathe properly again. He felt dazed, stunned, and air weighed heavy on his limbs. His mind sluggish, thoughts slick like glass and his focus—or what little of it remained—dribbling away from them. William, Solomon, Gilgamesh, Baphoment.

Something closer than lovers, than brothers, family was. Baphomet’s hole ached nearly as badly as Lucifer’s did.

He found William entirely by accident.

At first he wasn’t sure it was him—the boy was sitting with his head bowed, cradled in his hands. But Dantalion’s feet carried him towards him.

He knelt, whispered his name. And William’s head lifted, fine strands of blond hair spilling out of his eyes, his glittering, wet eyes.

Dantalion felt his breath freeze in his lungs, and swallowed hard.

“Don’t cry.”

Those were not Solomon’s eyes, but there was something of him there. Something in-between and aching, William in its caring and Solomon in its carelessness.

“William…” He couldn’t focus—his gaze drifted, to the pale sky peeking out behind William’s head, to the emerald of a nearby tree, to—

William’s hands reached, a thumb brushing his cheek as he cradled Dantalion’s face.

But William’s touch was electric, searing. His mind may not have been able to cling to him, but Dantalion reached up, pressed his hand to William’s and held him there, his desperation and terror and grief making his touch weak, his fingers tremble.

“I—“

“Have you killed them yet?” And his heart seized with terror. The taste of blood was overwhelming. The sound of screaming echoed in his ears and—

William was something fragile, sheltered. He had worked long and hard to keep him from that, from the bloodshed and destruction and wanton lust of murder. They all had.

“….Yes.”

But he couldn’t lie to him, not this half-William. His gaze slid across a stray lock of hair, to the way it turned silver in the watery sunlight.

“Then he rests in peace, Dantalion.”

He wished his heart didn’t seize up quite so hard whenever he heard William speak his name. But it was impossible, because when William spoke his word commanded and when he called for him, Dantalion would do fucking _anything_ to be there and—

“I miss him.”

William’s forehead rested against his, nose brushed against his, breath lingered with his. And in his grief and almost-madness, that brought him focus. All he could see was William’s eyes, and there was no escape from that.

“So do I.”

And Dantalion’s eyes slid shut, the tears finally spilling free of him.

He struggled, and gasped, and William held his head above the current and let him drown in his orbs. In him.

He tasted blood. Not sour, but sweet.

And William’s mouth was soft. Dantalion was not aware of kissing him, not until he was tasting him, pressing their lips together so hard he knew it would bruise. And he smiled, parted lips curving upwards as he pulled away, and Dantalion could only try to breath. Try, and fail like he had been since Baphomet’s end.

“I think…if you sink deeper into the slayings, Dantalion, you’ll forget this.”

This, the kiss? This, the mortal boy holding his entire world in his small, pale hands? This, the memory of his touch and comfort and annihilation? This, the agony of wanting and hating and loving something so dark as killing? This, his grief, his sorrow, his pain?

He didn’t know if he thought that would be a bad thing. He couldn’t find it in himself to determine if he cared.

And William stood, still cradling Dantalion’s face.

“…I think I will too.”

And he left, leaving Dantalion with the ghost of his touch and the echo of his words, his taste.

Dantalion stayed, kneeling, fallen where he had been for a long moment. Hands fisted at his hips, swaying in the breeze and drowning, still. Just not fighting it quite so desperately.

Then he stood, and drifted after the not-William. Like he’d followed William, and Solomon, and like he would no matter how far he fell, as he had since the beginning and would to the end.


End file.
